


A Date for the Wedding

by ShirleyAnn66



Series: All the Roads are Winding - Additional Universes [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Modern AU, Romantic Comedy to the Max
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:20:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25103071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShirleyAnn66/pseuds/ShirleyAnn66
Summary: Brienne's brother, Galladon, is getting married!  Too bad the woman he's marrying is hell on wheels.  As a result, Brienne finds herself in need of a date and in desperation, she hires an actor to play the part.What could possibly go wrong?
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: All the Roads are Winding - Additional Universes [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1818103
Comments: 202
Kudos: 281





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired (sort of) by the movie, _The Wedding Date_.

**Brienne**

_This is a stupid idea_ , Brienne thinks for the thousandth time as she continuously scans the faces of the passengers filing their way on to the plane.

Her stomach churns and she wonders what possessed her to make the call to that talent agency. She can’t even blame Nymeria for this one since she only mentioned it in passing. No, she, Brienne, is the one who searched it out online and then made the call.

_I’m an idiot_ , she thinks, also for the thousandth time.

It’s too late now, though. The agency confirmed the booking every time she called them even though she could tell from the tone of the woman’s voice on the tenth call that they were beginning to think she was insane. Still, one of their actors was willing to take the assignment and even if Brienne chickens out now, she’s already paid in full.

She catches her breath as a tall, well-built, golden-haired man with the most perfect jawline and cheekbones she’s ever seen steps through the hatch. He gives the stewardess a charming smile as he shows her his boarding pass and the smile sends lightning through Brienne from her eyes to the soles of her feet, even though the smile isn’t for her and even though she’s sitting this far back in the plane.

_That must be him_ , she thinks as her churning stomach swoops into a dive. She stares, unable to tear her gaze away and feeling almost dizzy. This is worse than she expected. He’s beautiful enough to be half a god and _n_ _o one_ , absolutely no one, let alone her soon-to-be-must-learn-to-live-with-her-at-all-costs-sister-in-law, will believe this guy is her date.

Although maybe she’s overreacting. Tarth is a relatively popular tourist destination, after all, and besides, if this is the man she’s waiting for, he’ll be in the seat next to her. She’ll know soon enough if he’s the one or if she’s still waiting. Brienne finds herself praying he’s not in the seat next to her, and she can then simply enjoy the memory of seeing such a handsome man in real life and not just in the movies or on television.

Sweat prickles the palms of her hands as the half-god moves closer, waiting patiently for those in front of him to find their seats, his eyes going from the people already seated to the numbers on the luggage bins above them. His gaze catches on hers and he gives her a puzzled look before his eyes flick back to searching for his seat number.

She hides a groan even as she finds herself unable to tear her eyes away from him.

No, if this is him, they’re all going to think he’s a male escort because they’re going to take one look at him and know the only way she got him as her date is because she paid him. Which is only half-true. She’s paid him, yes, but he’s an actor not an escort and oh dear gods he’s pausing at her row and looking from his boarding pass to the seat number on the overhead bin before giving her the ‘I think that’s my seat over there, Airplane Stranger’ smile that everyone flashes since air travel was invented.

_Shit_ , she thinks. _Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!_

The gorgeous man glances again at his boarding pass then back at her and his smile turns puzzled albeit even more charming, as if he’s worried she’s going to start foaming at the mouth.

“I think I’m at the window,” he says and his slow, deep voice sends silvery shivers down her spine.

Oh, like she needs even more complications! She gapes up at him until the person behind him leans around his impossibly broad shoulders and says, “Hey, lady, are you going to let him sit down or what?”

“Oh!” she yelps and scrambles to her feet, knocking her head against the overhead bin for her troubles.

The half-god raises an eyebrow in amusement as he shimmies past her and into the seat. He’s almost as tall as she is but even broader in the shoulders. This is going to be an uncomfortably cramped flight, crammed into these ridiculously small seats, but it was all she could afford after paying for, well, this man’s services.

Brienne sheepishly retakes her seat and as she fumbles at her seatbelt, she mutters, her voice low, “Thanks for doing this, but I wish the agency would have sent me a picture first.”

He pauses in his own mid-seatbelt-clicking-mode. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, you’re gorgeous...” she gives him a quick glance and gulps, “...as I’m sure you know. It’s just...you’re _too_ handsome, if you know what I mean. Everybody’s going to think you’re a--a...” She stops and gives him a mortified stare.

He stares back, green eyes wide, face carefully expressionless.

“I know I’m changing my mind at the last possible minute,” she groans, “and this was such a simple idea back when I called your agency but now... _gods_! Nobody’s going to believe you’re my date! Maybe my pity date or--but not...” She closes her eyes in mortification. “I’m sorry. You must think I’m insane.”

She hears him slowly snap his seatbelt into place but he remains silent.

She opens her eyes and gives him an apologetic grimace. “Let’s call the whole thing off. I’ve already paid the agreed fee to your agent, of course, and I’ll make sure you have a place to stay until you can get a flight back but really, this was a stupid idea to begin with and it’s even more stupid now that I’ve seen you.”

He frowns as he twists in his seat so he can look her in the eyes. “Maybe you should tell me more about ‘the whole thing’ first,” he says.

*/*/*/*/*


	2. Chapter 2

**Jaime**

Jaime listens as the crazy woman, who _looks_ harmless enough even if a little slow on the uptake, babbles yet another apology as the plane taxis to the runway for takeoff.

No wonder that guy agreed to give up his ticket so quickly at the airport. Of course, Jaime paid him a fortune for it then another fortune to the airline at the counter. Jaime thinks his father should have just given him the private jet instead but one does not question Tywin Lannister when he issues orders with _that_ look in his eyes.

Still, the crazy woman seems...well, sane enough...and if Jaime is understanding her rapid-fire words correctly, she’s also just been left in the lurch even if she’s changed her mind about it all.

Jaime realizes the crazy woman has finally stopped stammering apologies and is simply staring at him with intense earnestedness shining from wide blue eyes that, Jaime admits, are really quite remarkable. As the plane levels off, Jaime finds himself saying, “Let’s start from the beginning.” He wonders if insanity is contagious as he holds out his hand. “I’m Jaime.”

She frowns as she stares at his hand like she’s never seen one before. “Jaime? I thought the agency said your name was Mandon.”

His smile doesn’t waver. “Mandon’s my stage name,” he says, “but considering you’ve already fired me, there’s really no point in using it, is there?”

He wonders where he’s going with this. It’s the work of a moment to explain the mixup without giving himself away. Still...the flight may not be all that long but even listening to a crazy woman who has mistaken him for somebody else is still better than spending the trip brooding over once again acting as his brother-in-law’s lackey to stop the Golden Company’s attempted hostile takeover of the lucrative Stormlands’ subsidiary of Baratheon Brothers Inc. Things must be going very badly indeed when even his father insisted on him getting on the first flight out of King’s Landing to Tarth.

The drink cart stops beside their seats and the stewardess bends over them with a professional smile. “Drink?” she says to the crazy woman before her gaze flicks to Jaime and her smile warms.

He gestures to the crazy woman—who still hasn’t told him her name—and raises an eyebrow. 

“Whiskey,” the crazy woman says with a desperate edge. “On the rocks.”

Jaime quickly turns his laugh into a cough and say, “Make it two, and I’ll pay.”

The crazy woman turns and glares. “ _I’ll_ pay, thank you very much.”

Jaime’s lips twitch as he tilts his head in agreement and gracefully accepts. He can understand why she had to hire an actor to be her date if she’s this prickly about a measly drink on a plane. Then again, she must have some cash if she can hire an actor and still afford the outrageous prices they charge for the fourth-rate whiskey this airline provides.

He blinks his thoughts away as the stewardess passes them their drinks, the stewardess’ fingers brushing—deliberately?—against his. Jaime doesn’t react, only thanks her with his charm on ‘full’ because you never knew when you might need a friend on a plane, especially when sitting next to a crazy woman.

He turns his attention back to said crazy woman and says, as soothingly as possible, “Now, why don’t you tell Uncle Jaime all about it?”

*/*/*/*/*

**Brienne**

Brienne hides a sigh behind a quick sip of her whiskey although why she ordered the drinks is anybody’s guess. She hates the taste of whiskey and the prices on a plane are exorbitant at the best of times, especially for the low-quality liquor they serve. Still, if ever she needed a stiff drink, it’s now.

She considers Jaime from the corners of her eyes as she takes a second sip, then a third, before she turns to face the annoyingly attractive man. He’s far, far, _far_ too handsome for anyone to believe he’d willingly go on a date with her, let alone often enough to warrant being taken to her brother’s wedding and forced to mingle with family, friends, and people-she-would-chew-off-her-own-arm-for-if-it-meant-she’d-never-see-them-again. Her eyes catch on the sharp edge of his perfectly formed jaw and she finds herself staring at him with fascination before she shakes her head.

“I should have been more specific in my requirements,” she mutters.

Jaime raises an eyebrow as he, too, sips his whiskey. To his credit, he barely grimaces at the taste. “I’m waiting for you to be more specific about who you are and why you hired me in the first place.”

Now Brienne doesn’t bother to hide her sigh, then she frowns.

“I would have thought the agency told you my name?”

Jaime smiles and for the first time she truly understands what it means to be dazzled by someone. She wonders why he’s still a struggling actor.

“Humor me,” he purrs, his voice as smooth as liquid honey.

She gulps and says, “I’m Brienne. Brienne Tarth. My brother and his oh-so-blushing bride are getting married exactly one week from today.”

Jaime raises an eyebrow. “It sounds like you adore your soon-to-be-sister-in-law.”

Brienne can’t help her grimace. “I wish I could,” she mutters and gulps at her whiskey.

Jaime frowns. “You said a week from today?”

She gives a glum nod. “I’m told it’s all the rage now to have a week of festivities before the main event. I was ordered to attend the entire week because the bride, and I quote, ‘would not stand for that sister of yours ruining my wedding’, unquote. Galladon looked so browbeaten, I couldn’t say no.”

“So you hired M-me for the entire week before the wedding?” Jaime’s eyes gleam with unholy amusement and Brienne feels heat creeping into her cheeks. “Are you sure you called the right kind of agency?”

His smile is teasing but the words sting nonetheless.

She scowls into her almost-empty plastic glass of whiskey and mutters, “I thought a week getting to know each other would make us a more plausible couple by the day of the wedding itself.” She shrugs and gives him a sheepish look. “Method acting. Or something. It was a stupid idea, like everything else.”

Jaime sips his own drink with a thoughtful expression. “I still don’t know why you thought it was necessary to go to such lengths. Are you really so eager to impress your soon-to-be-much-adored-sister-in-law?”

She grimaces. “Gods, no! Unfortunately, she’s invited almost the entire population of Tarth to the wedding, including those members of the overly-spoiled, overly-rich jet set.”

“Tarth has a jet set?”

That surprises a sputter of laughter out of her, or mayhaps it’s just the whiskey.

“Sadly, yes, at least in their own minds. Big fish in a little pond who think they’re sharks.” She shakes her head then drains her glass and leans closer, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial tone. “I happen to know there’s a betting pool set up, including, among many, _many_ other things, whether I’m going to arrive alone, if I’ll be asked to dance, whether I’ll ask anyone to dance, and whether I’ll leave early and sob alone in my room for the rest of the night. I think there’s also something about what I’ll be wearing and how well it will fit.” She smiles and wonders if it looks as bitter and brittle as she feels. “And those are just the things I can tell you about.”

Jaime’s face looks like it’s made from marble: beautifully cut, preternaturally beautiful, cold and unmoving.

She can’t look at him anymore. She cranes her neck, searching for the stewardess, then lifts her glass to ask for a refill once she catches that young woman’s eye.

“Bringing in a ringer seemed like a good idea at the time,” she mutters, slouching back in her seat.

“A ringer.”

“I laid down a few bets of my own.” She sees his surprised face and shrugs. “Through the one person I trust but whose participation in the bet wouldn’t raise any eyebrows.” She scowls. “Too bad you’re so good looking. I’d love to get a free holiday out of this fiasco.”

Jaime seems to hide a smile behind his glass but the stewardess’ slightly impatient ‘yes’ distracts Brienne and she hastens to order another drink. Not that it matters if he’s laughing at her. Wouldn’t be the first time. It’s why there’s a betting pool in the first place, after all. Besides, she’s doing her best to speak clearly to the stewardess because her lips seem to have already gone numb and she’s not sure if she’s feeling fuzzy because she’s not used to drinking anything at all or if it’s because she’s drinking on an empty stomach and very little sleep.

She turns to Jaime, an eyebrow raised in question, but he shakes his head.

Once the stewardess leaves them, Jaime says with a thoughtful air, “How much money are we talking about?”

“More than enough to pay your fee and two round-trip tickets to Tarth, with enough left over for a two week vacation in the Summer Isles. All-inclusive, of course.”

“Of course.”

“I mean, obviously there are some things I planned on letting someone else win.”

“The ones you can’t tell me about?”

She blushes. “Yes. Those were never even an option.”

Jaime tilts his head and gives her a long, thoughtful look. “I’m sure they weren’t,” he says quietly. “But now you’ve changed your mind? About the whole thing, not just whether those other things are an option or not.”

Her blush deepens as she nods glumly while the stewardess returns with her new drink. “I was having second thoughts already but once I got a look at you...you’re just too handsome.” She’s dimly aware that the stewardess sharply turns her head at Brienne’s words and shoots a puzzled look over her shoulder as she saunters away.

Jaime says, “Wouldn’t my...erm...‘too-handsomeness’ be all the more reason to take me to the wedding?”

Brienne shakes her head, her mouth turned down into something even she knows is a glum pout. “Nobody will believe it. They’ll think I hired a male escort...no offense.”

“None taken.”

She sighs and sips at her drink. This one tastes a little better than the first one, and she hates whiskey, but if ever she needed two stiff drinks, it’s now.

“Besides, it’s the only thing not in the betting pool,” she says. “That I’d hire an escort, I mean.” She frowns, puzzled. “You’d think it would have been first on the list.” This time Jaime doesn’t even try to hide his smile. She sighs and shakes her head, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “This was a stupid idea and nobody would have believed it anyway, even if you weren’t so good looking.”

“So you’re willing to just lose all the money you put into the betting pool? And let all the money you’re spending on me go to waste?”

She slurps at her drink. “My own fault. I think I went a little insane when I made all the arrangements. I should have known I was too much of a coward to go through with it.”

Jaime’s eyes gleam with something she can’t quite decipher as he finishes his drink and presses the call button for the stewardess.

“Well,” he says, his voice smooth, “at least let me buy you a drink to show there’s no hard feelings.”

*/*/*/*/*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone has suggestions for things that might be included in the betting pool, let me know in a comment (or you can send me a DM on tumblr or reddit - I have the same username everywhere). No guarantees I'll be able to incorporate every suggestion into the fic but what the hell - let's see what people can come up with!


	3. Chapter 3

**Brienne**

Brienne pries her eyes open and squints up at the ceiling. The surface above her is painted with scenes from the Age of Magic, colourfully depicting the great heroes who saved the world with a cheerful disregard for historical accuracy, all of it gleaming and glittering in bright, golden sunlight. Her eyes trace the well-known faces of the Evenstar and her consort, the Golden Hand. Next to them is the Maiden and Ser Galladon of Morne, with Ser Galladon’s features looking suspiciously like hers, while Bran the Dreamer slumbers in his tree, sending sweet visions to sleeping children around the world. The bed—she's almost sure she's on a bed—is spacious and comfortable. Her gaze drifts from the ceiling to the blanket that covers her, decorated with equally colourful and equally inaccurate scenes depicting the Evenstar and the Golden Hand vanquishing their mortal enemies, the Beauty and the Kingslayer. Beneath the blanket she's fully clothed although—she wiggles her toes—her feet are bare.

It _is_ a bed, in a room that all clues tell her is her childhood bedroom on Tarth, which means she made it off the plane...but _how_ she made it off the plane is the question.

She frowns up at the Golden Hand, smacking her dry lips, half-heartedly hoping memory will return if she just stares at the ceiling long enough...and hears a discreet cough to her left.

A discreet cough that sounds decidedly masculine.

 _Father_. The thought is fuzzy, distant, surreal to her sluggish and very confused mind. She forces herself to focus. It _must_ be Father because Galladon won't be arriving until tomorrow (today?) and she's almost positive the dreamboat on the plane had been, well, a dream she had while in a drunken stupor. But why would her father be sitting in her bedroom while she slept? Dear gods...her father didn't decide to pick her up at the airport, did he?

She closes her eyes. She hopes she hadn't vomited all over the luggage carousel and that the dreamboat really had been a figment of her imagination or had disappeared before her father saw him or at least before she'd done something stupid.

She licks her lips again, her mouth like furry sandpaper, her stomach roiling, her head pounding.

Well.

Something _else_ stupid.

She carefully turns her head in the direction of the cough and sees the dreamboat looking unbearably gorgeous while awash in sunlight. He's comfortably sprawled in one of the armchairs in front of a large balcony window, reading his phone with a slight frown that does nothing to mar the perfection of his features.

Brienne stares in silence then lifts her hand to rub her forehead.

"Did I sleep all night?" she groans.

Jaime glances up from his phone and raises an eyebrow. " _That's_ your first question?"

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne stands under the shower and prays for the water to ease the pain in her head. She spends several long moments suspended in time as she seriously weighs the benefits of vomiting against the very real possibility that doing so will literally make her head explode. Since that would at least put her out of her misery and she could avoid her family’s questions, it's not really the dealbreaker it would be normally. She thinks of Jaime lurking outside the bathroom door, probably waiting to pounce the moment she shows her face, which tilts the scales even more dangerously towards her head exploding being the preferred option for the immediate future.

The sudden, staccato knock on the door amplifies the pounding in her head.

She bites back a groan both of pain and dismay before croaking out, "Yeah?"

"I'm going downstairs to get some coffee," Jaime calls. "You going to be okay in there or should I wait to make sure you don't drown?"

"I'm fine. Go...do...whatever you need to do."

"I'll bring back some breakfast."

Brienne feels her gorge rise at the thought. "Oh gods..."

Even as she scrambles to the toilet and retches into it, she swears she hears him laughing.

*/*/*/*/*

**Jaime**

Brienne is back in bed, huddled beneath the covers when Jaime returns. He considers the damp, straw-coloured rat's nest that's her hair as he puts the small carafe of coffee he charmed out of Brienne's sisters on the long, low dresser that dominates one side of Brienne's bedroom.

Brienne shows no sign of life as he wanders to the balcony window and opens it, and he half-seriously wonders if he should check her pulse. Who knew such a large woman would be such a lightweight when it came to the cheap ass whiskey served by that airline?

He grins at the memory as he strolls back to the dresser, pours himself a coffee and steps out on to the balcony.

The Tarth family home is large and comfortable although nowhere near the scale of the Red Keep or Casterly Rock. A two-storey white clapboard house with five bedrooms and two bathrooms located on the second floor, accented with a balcony on either side of the house so every bedroom has a tiny outdoor space attached to it. It’s a comfortable, upper-middle-class, slightly old-fashioned house, and right now, it’s filling up with Brienne’s parents, sisters, and early wedding guests.

Jaime leans on the balcony railing, cup cradled in his hands, and lifts his face to the early morning sun. He's spent the morning giving Brienne's family—who had obviously been expecting him although not, well, _him_ , obviously—non-answers about his relationship with her when he wasn’t firing off texts to Lady Cyrenna Swann to let her know he arrived on Tarth but is unavoidably detained. He knows it’s a risk—she’s married to Lord Walder Frey, after all, and if anyone will take offense at his wife being kept waiting, it’s him. Jaime also went locked himself away in the bathroom earlier to call and let Tyrion know the same thing and to ask him to run interference with their father and Cersei, while providing him with as little explanation as possible. In between, and since he’s waiting for Brienne to fully wake up so they can get their stories straight before facing her family, he's been searching for actors with the first name of Mandon and the talent agency that represents them.

He thinks he's finally found it, which he’ll confirm once he picks up a burner phone when he wanders into town later today. But until then...

His phone vibrates and he idly wonders if it's his father, Cersei, or Tyrion, calling to nag at him. It certainly won't be Robert, since that would mean he actually gave a shit about getting something done. No, his father is definitely the power behind that throne even if his sister wants to believe otherwise.

His phone stills and Jaime sips his coffee, feeling oddly content.

Brienne turns over in her bed and begins to snore.

Well, until then...he has all the time in the world.

*/*/*/*/*

**Brienne**

Brienne feels slightly more human when she once again half-opens her eyes to see Jaime still sitting in the armchair, still peering intently at his phone.

She blinks at him and even in her still hung-over-but-far-less-painfully-so state, she admires the clean, sharp lines of his jaw and cheekbones and the length of his lashes as he frowns down at the phone in his hand. She must make a noise because he glances up at her.

"You're real," she says, then winces. "I mean, you're really here."

He lowers his phone and smirks at her. "I stubbed my toe last night while stumbling around in the dark. It hurt like a son-of-a-bitch, so I'm definitely real. And yes, I'm also really here."

She pushes herself up against the pillows and rubs her forehead. "What happened yesterday? It _was_ only yesterday, right?"

"It was, and you really can't hold your liquor.”

She puts her hands over her face.

"What's the last thing you remember?" he asks and Brienne can _hear_ his bright-eyed, unholy amusement.

"Firing you!"

Jaime laughs. "Well, you lost most of our plane ride but that's not a surprise. I was practically carrying you by the time we landed.”

Brienne frowns, scouring her memory but it remains stubbornly blank. "But why are you in my room?"

"Apparently your soon-to-be-much-beloved-sister-in-law invited at least one other wedding guest to arrive yesterday and he, in his infinite kindness, waited for you at the airport. Ayle? Byle? Nobody would name their kid Byle, would they?”

Brienne closes her eyes and groans. "Hyle."

"Right. He was waiting at the luggage carousel when we arrived and he became very concerned when he saw the state you were in. Things got very...hmmm... _heated_ , let us say. You have to appreciate his concern for you. Is he an ex?”

“Good gods, no!” She rubs her still-aching forehead and sighs. "Okay...that's...something...but why are you _here_?"

Jaime's smile is almost feral.

"Well, where else would your beloved boyfriend sleep, my adorable little pumpkin patch?"

Her stomach drops out into a bottomless pit. "Oh, _fuck_."

*/*/*/*/*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N1:** That feeling when you've almost finished the next chapter of a fic and kept forgetting the memory stick. This was supposed to be posted at least two days ago. FML.
> 
>  **A/N2:** That opening paragraph may or may not be revisited in the third fic I have on the go, even though that third fic isn't actually an ATRAW universe. ;P


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** I meant to add this link to the last chapter. The reference to the Maiden and Ser Galladon of Morne painting was a shout-out to this [lovely fanart by n0boddy (doubtful_guest) ](https://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/JBSFCC/works/24943486).

**Jaime**

Jaime watches with interest as Brienne marshals her thoughts.

“Okay,” she mumbles, rubbing her forehead, “okay, we can still salvage this.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“We can just say we’ve had a massive fight about me getting drunk on the plane and you’ve decided to leave rather than put up with me.”

“Do you make a habit of getting drunk?”

“ _No!_ ”

Jaime grins at how offended she sounds. “So what kind of loving significant other would I be if I got mad over one little mistake?”

She glares then winces, rubbing once again at her forehead. “Well, what do you suggest then?”

Jaime shrugs. “You’ve already paid for my time. You may as well make the most of it. And win a free vacation because of it.”

“I’ve already told you, I’ll take the loss.”

“Most of your family’s already met me. More importantly, I’ve already met them.”

“Oh, gods...”

“We can say we’ve had a tiff and would prefer to sleep in separate rooms while we’re here. Would that work?”

Brienne ponders the idea then says, “Or at a hotel?”

Jaime’s eyebrow shoots back up into his hairline. “That big of a tiff?”

Brienne sighs. “We have the entire wedding party staying with us. There may not be any room left, other than the living room floor.”

Jaime shrugs. “I’ll make do. After all, I’m going to want to make up with you before the wedding. We have a betting pool to win. Now,” he says and rubs his hands together in almost evil glee, and he wonders if this is how Tyrion feels all the time, “how did we meet?”

Brienne frowns and Jaime thinks he really needs to encourage her not to get too drunk during the next week because her hangover seems to have slowed her wits more than he expected.

“...I hadn’t thought that far,” she mumbles.

“Well, we need to get our stories straight. I’ve managed to dance around the question because I was busy ministering to you, my precious lightweight, but your father’s been eyeing me like he’s trying to determine which weapon I’ll choose once he’s challenged me to a duel for besmirching your honour, your mother’s been humming what sounds suspiciously like a funeral dirge, while your sisters have been tag-teaming to trap me in a room while they pepper me with questions. I think I may have caught them trying to attach ropes to a chair positioned beneath a bare lightbulb.”

Brienne ducks her head and covers her face with one hand. She half-groans, half-laughs. “Sounds about right,” she says.

“And that’s not even mentioning Gorgeous Gyle—”

“Hyle.”

“Whatever. He’s been skulking around corners but hasn’t directly spoken to me since the airport, so the Seven only knows what he’s been telling your family.” Jaime frowns. “None of your family members are in this betting pool, are they?”

Brienne’s eyes widen. “Of course not! They would never do anything like that to anyone!”

Jaime nods. “Good to know.”

“But you can’t tell them about it, Jaime!”

Jaime frowns at the desperate note in her voice.

“No? Judging from the look in your father’s eyes whenever he looks at me, telling them would certainly would have nipped the whole thing in the bud from the beginning.”

Brienne frantically shakes her head then winces as she turns a little green. She swallows, obviously riding out a moment of nausea, then says, “Galladon is the first to get married and our family has been like giddy children. My mother loves all the frills and lace, my father loves my mother, my sisters love, well, love, and I would never do anything that might ruin this for them.”

“What about Galladon?”

Brienne frowns. “What about him?”

“Well, he _is_ the groom. I’m assuming you wouldn’t want to ruin this for him, most of all.”

Brienne leans away, blinking. “...of course not.”

Jaime files her reaction away for later. “Then we definitely don’t want our lovers’ spat to be to the point of breakup.” He grins. “The living room floor it is. Now, to get back to my original question: how did we meet? Do we work together? Did we match on a dating app? Met on the plane here? No, that last one won’t work—they were expecting me.”

Brienne looks horrified. “I did tell them I was bringing somebody...but thank the gods that was before I knew your name...well, stage name.”

Jaime nods. “Luck works in mysterious ways. Work colleagues, then?”

Brienne shakes her head, a frantic look in her eyes which Jaime once again files away for later. “I’m a professor at Westeros University, King’s Landing. They know all my work colleagues and trust me, none of them look like you.”

“You’re dating a student, Brienne?”

She flushes a deep, dark red. “Don’t be an ass, Jaime! No!” Her scowl turns assessing as she looks him up and down. “The gym,” she says. “You obviously work out.”

“As do you,” he says, grinning. “Now to get the rest of our story straight.”

*/*/*/*/*

**Brienne**

It takes the entire carafe of the now lukewarm coffee, two glasses of water, Jaime’s considerable charm turned to ‘full’, and the discovery of the latest Aurora Del Moniko Age of Magic bodice ripper in Brienne’s suitcase before Jaime manages to coax her from the safety of her bedroom to face her family.

She’s dreading it so much, she actually feels let down when she finds the note from her mother on the dining room table, letting her know the entire crew were off to the airport to pick up Galladon and his unfortunately-’til-death-do-they-part-bride before heading to Evenfall Hall for the First Day pictures and the Wedding Party Reception. There’s nothing else for Brienne to do but trudge disconsolately out to the back yard, the novel clutched to her chest, another life-saving glass of water in her hand, while Jaime heads to the kitchen to rustle up some food for both of them.

She settles into a lounge chair and opens her novel with a determined air. Her family will be back late tonight and tomorrow the wedding festivities she’s actually invited to will start in earnest. She may as well savour these last few moments of peace and quiet while she can.

“Deserted already?”

Brienne starts and blinks up at the man speaking to her. “Hyle?”

Hyle, hands filled with plastic shopping bags decorated with brightly coloured flowers and hearts and lace, is looking down at her with a half-pitying, half-sneering smile. He’s handsome enough, Brienne supposes. His brown hair falls boyishly across his forehead into his brown eyes, and at one time, Brienne had considered him rather attractive, even harbouring faint hopes his interest in her was more sincere than it turned out to be.

“Didn’t your pretty boy tell you I was here?” he says.

“Pretty boy?”

Something like triumph flickers across his face. “I found you hanging off some gigolo at the airport last night. He insisted he was your date for the wedding and wouldn’t let me bring you home without him. I’ll admit, he was fast-talking enough to convince your family to let him spend the night with you. I haven’t seen him in hours so no doubt he’s long gone. Have you checked the house to make sure he hasn’t robbed you all blind?”

Brienne pushes herself up higher in the lounger. “Oh, right. Jaime mentioned you were at the airport when we arrived.”

“Jaime? What kind of name is that?”

She shrugs. “His, I suppose.” She reluctantly closes her book and sets it aside then reaches for the water beside her. “Jaime said he saw you around this morning. Not sure how you’ve missed him since.”

“I’ve got better things to do than follow some scam artist around the house.”

Brienne looks at the bags Hyle is carrying. “Better things? Like doing Alynne’s bidding, I see.”

Hyle flushes and Brienne almost feels sorry for the man. His infatuation with Galladon’s bride-to-be is sometimes painful to behold...probably because Brienne has had her own fair share of unrequited loves.

“Just picking up the things Alynne wanted you to get before she got here. She was not pleased to learn you were sleeping off a hangover on the morning of her first bridal party! She wants it to be perfect and she will not be pleased if you ruin it for her.”

Brienne says, her voice dry, “I’m not sure why Alynne wanted me to shop for a party I’m not even invited to.”

“Well, if you hadn’t been hungover, what else were you going to do? Hide out in your room like a princess in that trashy novel you’re reading?” Hyle snickers. “I doubt Pretty Boy is an Age of Magic knight riding to your rescue.”

“Pretty Boy?” Jaime’ deep voice coming from behind her makes Brienne close her eyes and pray with every fibre of her being that he only heard the last snide statement and nothing that came before. “Have you replaced me already, my darling puffer fish?”

That snaps her eyes open. “Puffer fish?”

Jaime’s grin is wicked as he leans closer and taps a finger against the tip of her nose. “Given how puffed up you were during our little spat earlier, it seemed appropriate.”

Brienne feels the blush creeping into her cheeks while Hyle grimaces with disgust. “Puffer fish? Seriously?”

Jaime simply raises an eyebrow. “You were talking about Pretty Boy?” he says, his tone coolly neutral yet somehow dangerous. A shiver runs down Brienne’s spine and she wonders again why he’s still a struggling actor.

Hyle doesn’t seem fazed, although in Brienne’s experience it does take an enormous amount of effort to break through his myopic view of the world. Then again, his smile seems to do nothing more than show his teeth. “I was just asking Brienne your name and how the two of you met.”

“At the gym,” Jaime says promptly. “We got into a friendly competition and she ran me into a draw on the treadmill. Isn’t that right, my light-footed antelope?” Brienne stares, her mind utterly blank, and Jaime laughs before turning back to Hyle. “She’s still hungover and hasn’t eaten yet.” He smiles at Brienne. “I’ve made your favourite omelet. It’s ready in the kitchen.”

That galvanizes her. She scrambles to her feet. “I think I’m ready to eat,” she says, “especially when it’s my favourite omelet.” She turns to Hyle. “You should probably get going. You don’t want to be late.”

Hyle glances at his watch then curses. He thrusts the bags into Jaime’s hands. “Make yourself useful, Pretty Boy, and put these in the living room,” he says. He hurries away while Brienne and Jaime watch him go.

They stand for a moment in silence then Brienne turns to Jaime and says, “What kind of omelet did you make?”

“Ham, mushrooms, and cheese.”

Brienne gives him a half-smile. “You’re in luck. That actually _is_ my favourite kind.”

*/*/*/*/*

**Jaime**

Jaime hides a grin behind his glass of orange juice as he watches Brienne pick at the omelet on her plate.

“Still feeling a bit nauseous?” he says.

Brienne shrugs and nods. “Not looking forward to everyone getting here later tonight or seeing them all tomorrow.”

Jaime frowns. “I thought your parents and sisters were just picking up your brother and his much-beloved-bride at the airport?”

“They are but then they’re on their way to Evenfall Hall for their First Day pictures and the Wedding Party Reception.”

Jaime stares. “First Day pictures?”

Brienne shrugs. “Seven days of festivities to honour the Seven. It’s the latest wedding trend.”

“Of course.”

Brienne snickers. “Thankfully we’re not invited to the First Day party. It’s strictly for the wedding party.”

“And you’re not in the wedding party?”

Brienne shakes her head. “Arianne and Alysanne are bridesmaids. They’re paired with my soon-to-be-sister-in-law’s brothers.”

“And you?”

“I’m an usher.”

Jaime frowns.

Brienne smiles. “I insisted. Galladon wanted me to be a bridesmaid but I couldn’t imagine how that would end well for anyone involved. Besides, she already had her seven bridesmaids and that just wasn’t a battle I wanted Galladon to fight.”

Jaime doesn’t really know what to say. “Seven bridesmaids?”

“You obviously haven’t kept up on all the latest wedding fads.”

“The last wedding I attended was twenty years ago when my twin sister got married at the age of seventeen.”

Brienne’s eyes widen then she says, “Oh, gods—I never even thought to ask if _you_ were married!”

Jaime grins as his phone vibrates. He glances down at it and says, “No wife, just a sister.” He picks up his phone. “And a brother. I need to take this.”

Brienne nods as Jaime stands and answers the call.

“Hey,” he says as he leaves the kitchen.

“Father’s starting to rage.”

Jaime glances behind him as he hurriedly strides through the patio doors and into the backyard.

“ _Father?_ ”

“He almost raised his voice.”

Jaime grins. “That is serious. He’s not buying that I’ve been unavoidably detained?”

“He says you better be locked in a cage somewhere to justify your disappearance. He’s not accepting anything less.”

“Good gods, what could possibly be so urgent it can’t wait?”

“The Golden Company and hostile takeovers wait for no one,” Tyrion says. “Aegon Targaryen may be young but he’s a cunning bastard.”

“Aegon? Or Jon Connington?”

“Does it matter? The Tyrells, Martells, and Freys are the most likely to be swayed towards the Golden Company. We need to keep at least one of them on our side or we’ve lost this war.”

Jaime pinches the bridge of his nose. “I know,” he sighs. “I’ll get in touch with Lady Cerenna sometime this afternoon.”

“Are you going to tell me what you’re doing, Jaime? At least give me something to tell Father. He’s thinking you’re just ignoring his orders and he’s considering heading to Tarth himself to take care of things.”

“Already?”

“Has he _ever_ been a patient man?”

Jaime grimaces. “Tell him I’ll follow up with Lady Cerenna…” he glances at his watch “…in about an hour. I’ll check in with him after that.”

“Fine. You better have a good story ready, though, and you may want to share it with me beforehand so I can back you up.”

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime returns to the kitchen and smiles at Brienne as he sits down. “Brothers,” he says.

Brienne grimaces and nods. Jaime’s pleased to see she’s nibbled a bit more of the omelet. She glances at him then puts another bite into her mouth with a determined air.

“It really is very good,” she mumbles.

Jaime grins. “Thank you. It’s about all I know how to make.” He reaches for his orange juice. “You know, I never asked the name of the bride. I suppose that’s something your significant other would know before he meets the happy couple.”

Brienne grimaces. “Alynne,” she says. “Alynne Connington.”

Jaime coughs on the juice and Brienne shoots him a concerned look. “Went down the wrong way,” he says. “Connington, you say? Any relation to _Jon_ Connington?”

“A cousin, I think,” Brienne says, picking up another bite of food from her plate. “I’m sure he’s invited.”

*/*/*/*/*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** I meant to get this chapter posted a lot earlier. Unfortunately, I'm currently dealing with a sick cat whose megacolon was acting up and is now also probably diabetic. He's so lucky he's cute.


	5. Chapter 5

**Jaime**

Near sunset that evening, Jaime strolls through the quaint streets of Evenfall with a much revitalized Brienne playing reluctant tour guide. He’s listening to her somewhat stilted chatter with half-an-ear while he wonders if he’s the luckiest or unluckiest man alive, and tries to think of the best way to turn Jon Connington’s presence at the wedding into an advantage without blowing his cover with Brienne. He also managed to connect with Lady Cerenna and calm her, with the promise of meeting with her the next day at ten. All in all, a strange but successful day.

“...the wedding will be held in the sept there,” Brienne is saying, and Jaime dutifully turns to look at the historic castle that dominates the city. Evenfall Hall is picturesque and imposing, located on the highest point to dominate the small city that surrounds it. It’s made of rugged stone and wood and while it’s not as large as the keep at Casterly Rock, it’s still impressive and it’s exterior at least is beautifully restored and maintained. “The wedding celebration will then be in the gardens, weather permitting, or the Great Hall, if the weather is bad.”

“Lovely place for a wedding,” Jaime says.

“It’s truly beautiful,” Brienne says and he gives her a sharp look at her wistful tones. She catches his gaze and shrugs. “Growing up in the shadow of Evenfall Hall is what convinced me to make history my profession.”

Jaime thinks of the paintings on her ceiling and the cartoons on her blanket. “Not the grand legends of heroes and villains from days gone by?”

She blushes. “I was very young,” she mutters. “We just never got around to changing the room.”

Jaime laughs. “Nothing to be ashamed about, Brienne. I used to pretend to be the Golden Hand in my youth as well, with my sister cast in the role of the Evenstar before she decided such games were beneath her.”

Brienne’s smile is fleeting. “I was more often cast in the role of the villain,” she says. “The Kingslayer or the Beauty. I didn’t mind, though, since in the songs, the Kingslayer and the Beauty are the most skilled with swords. It took trickery to defeat them, not sheer brawn.”

Jaime gives her a delighted smile. “Do you like the bad boys, then, Brienne?”

She blushes then laughs. “I just always thought the Kingslayer and the Beauty have more of a story to tell, and I’ve spent my career trying to find it.”

Brienne’s phone buzzes with a text and Jaime watches as she reads it, her mirth wiped away in an instant.

“What’s wrong?” he says.

“News of your presence is travelling like wildfire,” Brienne says, her voice grim. “They’re adding new items to the betting pool.”

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime sends Brienne back to the house, both to give her time to herself and so he can slip into the shopping centre and pick up a burner phone before the stores close. With that done, he returns to the Tarth home to find her sitting outside with the dim yard lights pushing back the darkness. She’s scowling at her phone as she absently swats mosquitoes.

“What?” he says, genuinely surprised. “They’re not finished yet?”

“They’re still working on the final list and when the betting closes,” she mutters.

Jaime raises an eyebrow and says, “Have you told your ringer to lay down as much money as they can on you to win?”

“I’m pretty much tapped out,” she sighs. “Alynne’s group of friends like to pretend they’re high rollers so the stakes were high to begin with. With your presence, they’re even higher now.” She glances at him and blushes. “And they’re not worth betting on.”

“Well, now I’m intrigued.” He pauses for a moment then says, “If they’re all like Luscious Lyle, I’m more than willing to put some money in on this action.”

She silently mouths ‘luscious Lyle’ with a puzzled frown before she gives her head a shake and says, “No, you really don’t want to do that.”

Even he can tell his smile is as sharp as a knife. “No, I really do.”

For a moment she opens her mouth to argue then deflates.

“Well, let’s figure out where you’re going to sleep tonight first,” she mutters, “then argue over the rest of it later.”

Jaime slides an amused glance in her direction. “Well, there is an armchair in your room―”

“You can’t sleep with me!”

Jaime’s eyebrows shoot up and Brienne blushes to the roots of her hair.

“I mean—”

“I know what you meant,” Jaime says, taking pity on her.

“I can’t do this, Jaime,” Brienne groans, dropping her phone on her lap and covering her face with her hands. “Let’s just tell everyone and move on.”

“Move on from what?” a voice booms behind him and Jaime turns to stare at Selwyn Tarth and his wife, Daella, who are staring back with all-too-familiar glares.

*/*/*/*/*

**Brienne**

Brienne closes her eyes and prays for the ground to open up beneath her so this nightmare can just be over. Instead, Jaime perches himself on the side of her chair and slings his arm around her shoulders before giving her parents the most obviously superficial grin Brienne has ever seen on another person’s face.

“Brienne’s burbling with excitement to tell everyone when and how we met and I’m trying to persuade her to make a game of it.” Jaime’s eyes glitter. “She tells me your daughter-in-law-in-waiting is fond of such games.”

Brienne stops short of elbowing the annoying man in the ribs and silently congratulates herself on her self-control.

“Brienne has never burbled in her life,” Mother says, her voice flat.

Jaime’s eyes widen. “Not even as a baby?”

“Not even then.”

“Mother,” Brienne groans then cringes a little beneath the force of those violet eyes.

“Now that you’re off your deathbed,” Mother says, “it’s time for us to have a chat.”

“I told you I was bringing an escort!” Brienne blurts and Jaime laughs.

Now Brienne does elbow him and he grunts a little, rubbing at his ribs, as Father says, “It’s not about your guest here.”

Brienne freezes. “It’s not?”

“No,” her mother growls. “We’re going to have to find room for even more people in the house. It turns out the guest list for the First Day festivities included far more than just the wedding party.”

“It did?”

Mother nods. “I hate to do this but I need your help to figure out where everyone is going to sleep.” She gives Jaime an exasperated but relieved look. “At least we don’t have to worry about you.”

*/*/*/*/*

“I’m not certain why I’m bothering,” Mother grumbles as she pulls blankets and sheets and pillows from the linen closet in the upstairs hallway and piles them on Brienne’s waiting arms. “I have no doubt they’ll just sleep wherever they can find a place to land.”

“Mayhaps we need to find buckets instead,” Brienne says then winces as she remembers her morning.

“Good idea,” Mother says, distracted. “If I had known how many people Ronnet would invite, I would have ordered tents. We could have put everyone in the back yard.”

“Why aren’t they in a hotel?”

“Alynne is determined everyone will be together for the entire seven days. Something about the wedding being one of those shared events that bonds everyone together for the rest of their lives.”

“Of course.”

Mother stops and gives her a hard look. “I do wish the two of you would resolve your differences. Galladon loves her.”

“And I love Galladon. Yes, Mother, I know.”

“What happened with Ronnet was a long time ago,” Mother says, turning back to the closet and pulling out even more sheets and blankets and pillows. Brienne idly wonders if the linen closet is magically bigger on the inside for it to hold so much. “Besides,” Mother continues, “it was Ronnet who behaved abominably on that occasion.” She pauses, considering. “Now, if Alynne was a Wagstaff, I would understand.”

Brienne blushes. “He was a creep,” she mutters.

“Oh, I don’t blame you, Brienne. I only wish you had let me have a chance at him, too.”

“What about Father?”

“Father could have taken care of whatever was left after I was done.”

Brienne slowly grins then laughs.

Her mother smiles in return then closes the closet door and grabs some of the bed linens from Brienne’s arms and heads towards the stairs. “Come on, let’s take these to the basement. The boys should be setting up the air mattresses by now.”

_The boys?_ Brienne thinks as she obediently follows only to almost run into her mother when that lady stops in mid-stride and says, “I quite like your young man.”

“You do?”

“I understand he was very protective of you when Hyle tried to pry you away from him at the airport. He’s also handsome, witty, handsome, polite, and did I mention handsome?”

Brienne thinks of the clean, sharp lines and angles of Jaime’s cheekbones and jaw, the way his face lights up when he smiles, the bright intelligence in his eyes even as he teases her. “His looks are pleasant enough, I suppose,” she murmurs and her mother laughs.

“Well, I, for one, am looking forward to the story of how you met,” she says and leads the way downstairs.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne accepts the inevitable and, after her parents return to the First Day party at Evenfall Hall, she and Jaime take some of the bedding from the basement and build him a nest on her bedroom floor.

“I just hope you don’t snore,” she grumbles, and Jaime laughs.

*/*/*/*/*

In the morning, Brienne is awake before Jaime and she quickly leaves for the bathroom where she dresses then tiptoes downstairs to the kitchen. She stops in the doorway at the sight of her sisters slouched at the table, steaming coffee cups cradled in their hands.

They’re twins, in their early twenties, and both turn their heads in her direction. Their eyes aren’t quite the same blue, and their hair is slightly different shades of blonde, but their smiles are identically evil.

“You’ve been holding out on us, Brienne,” Alysanne purrs and Brienne closes her eyes and groans.

*/*/*/*/*

“Where did you meet?”

“When did you meet?”

“Where did he take you for your first date?”

“Why haven’t you told us about him before?”

Brienne shakes her head as she lifts her own cup of life-giving coffee to her mouth. “Jaime wants to make a game of all this,” she says weakly, “so I can’t tell you anything.”

“What’s his last name?”

“How serious is this?”

The twins gasp in unison and squeal, “ _Is there going to be another wedding?_ ”

“Good gods, no!” Brienne yelps.

“Good gods no, what?” Jaime asks as he saunters into the kitchen, looking disgustingly well-rested for having slept on the floor, with a smirk on his face that’s so unholy in its amusement, it would give even a demon from the seven hells pause.

Before Alysanne or Arianne could reply, their mother bustles in, followed more slowly by their father.

“Good, you’re all awake. We’re going to need all the help we can get to get breakfast on the table for that lot. How are you with a frying pan, Jaime?”

Jaime’s eyes widen. “I can make a decent omelet.”

“Good, that means you know how to scramble eggs, because that’s the only kind they’re going to get.”

“And bacon,” Father says.

“Naturally,” Mother says.

“Pancakes?” Alysanne asks.

“If you want to flip them.”

“Sausages?” Arianne says.

“If your father wants to light up the barbeque for them.”

“Do we have enough?” Brienne asks.

Her family looks at her and laughs. “Always practical Brienne,” Alysanne says fondly.

Father says, “Why don’t you and Jaime take the car and head to the store? Buy out the place if you have to.”

Brienne nods and holds out her hand. Father grunts but pulls out his wallet and hands it to her. She heads to the door. “Come on, Jaime.”

“What, now?” Jaime squeaks. “I haven’t even had my first cup of coffee yet!”

Brienne’s smile is as evil as her sisters’. “You’re the one who decided to be here,” she says. “Welcome to the madhouse.”

*/*/*/*/*

**Jaime**

Between her sisters constantly calling to add more items to the shopping list and Brienne’s uncertain reactions to his light-hearted teasing, Jaime can’t remember the last time he had so much fun shopping, and for groceries, of all the mundane things.

Of course, his good mood is helped by the fact that Brienne asked him to answer her phone while they were driving to the store, which gave him the chance to confirm that he had, indeed, found the correct talent agency for the actor she had originally hired for the wedding.

They also buy out the store, or at least it feels that way.

*/*/*/*/*

“Come to the wedding, you said,” Jaime grumbles as he scrapes another pan of scrambled eggs onto the next serving plate. “It’ll be fun, you said.”

Brienne glowers. “I did no such thing! I fire-ire-iry firmly told you it was your decision.”

Jaime laughs at her verbal stumble but it seems he’s the only who notices.

“It can’t have been much fun so far,” Alysanne says, spreading butter over another piece of toast and adding it to the pile while Arianne puts another four slices into the toaster. “First dealing with a dead drunk girlfriend, now making breakfast for that ungrateful lot.”

They all turn to look at the crowd in the backyard. Jaime’s lost track of how many people are there but he has definitely not lost track of the bride. With her flowing waves of auburn hair, blue eyes, symmetrical features and slender figure, Alynne Connington is truly a beauty. Her oldest brother, Ronnet, is handsome enough but a pale imitation of his sister even if his hair is a much deeper red. Raymund is between the two, both in age and looks, and seems swallowed up in both their shadows. Galladon is as handsome as Arianne and Alysanne are beautiful, and he stands a full head shorter than Brienne, but there’s a similarity in all their features and physicality that identify them as siblings. Even from the few short moments Jaime’s seen Galladon with his sisters and especially Brienne, he can see they’re all genuinely fond of each other.

The rest of ‘that ungrateful lot’, though, is just a mass of faces and names that Jaime has no hope of keeping straight, at least not yet. There’s a Samwell and a Nymeria, a Mark and a Taena, someone Jaime is almost certain was introduced to him as ‘The Stork’ and, of course, there’s Captivating Kyle flitting around and hanging on Alynne’s every word. Jaime would almost feel sorry for the man’s obvious infatuation if he wasn’t shooting such baleful glares in his direction.

Jaime turns his attention away from the crowd in the backyard and glances at the clock.

Nine-thirty.

He starts another batch of eggs then turns to Brienne and hands her the spatula. “I’m afraid I have to step out for a while.”

She frowns. “You haven’t had breakfast yet.”

“I’ll take some bacon along with me.”

Her frown deepens. “Where are you going?”

He glances at her avidly watching sisters and leans closer, lowering his voice. “The agency texted me. A stage director has seen some of my work and wants to talk to me, but he’s only available today.”

Brienne’s eyes widen. “Oh!”

“Stop whispering sweet nothings in Brienne’s ear and keep your eye on the stove,” Alysanne calls, laughing.

“But she enjoys them so much,” Jaime says, “don’t you, my fluffy little dandelion puff?”

“Dandelion puff?” Alysanne asks with a disgusted grimace.

“Fluffy?” Arianne says, wrinkling her nose, and Brienne blushes while Jaime laughs.

*/*/*/*/*

Lady Cerenna Frey is every inch the highborn lady with centuries of good breeding and ancient wealth behind her. He’s ushered into her hotel suite and presented to her as if she were the Queen herself.

She levels him with a firm glare before waving him to a seat, saying, “You’ve left me waiting long enough. You should be grateful I haven’t thrown Walder’s lot in with Jon Connington and Aegon Targaryen out of sheer spite.”

Jaime raises an eyebrow as he accepts the tea she offers him. “If I recall, you were already on Tarth for your own reasons when my father arranged this meeting.”

“It seems like my reasons are also your reasons.”

Jaime pauses with the delicate porcelain cup half way to his lips. “Oh?”

“I saw you strolling the streets of Evenfall last night with that unfortunate Tarth girl. Is she the reason you were detained? No, impossible. It must be one of her sisters. So lovely but quite young, aren’t they?”

“They’re in their twenties,” Jaime says, “but you were correct the first time. I’m here because of Brienne.” He gives her a considering look. “Are you here for the wedding?”

“Of course. I’ll be at the Mother’s festivities this afternoon.”

“Mother’s festivities?”

Lady Cerenna sighs. “Yes, it’s the Mother’s Day of the wedding week. Unfortunately, the Connington parents are long dead. While this should be a mingling of the two families both hosted by and honouring the mothers of the happy couple, it’s turned into a party for Daella and her friends. I was naturally invited.”

“Naturally.” Jaime raises an eyebrow. “Considering I left Daella slaving over a hot stove to feed the wedding party and their guests, it doesn’t seem like much of celebration of her.”

Now it’s Lady Cerenna’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “You’re staying with the Tarths?”

“I’m Brienne’s date for the wedding, so I was graciously invited to stay at the house,” Jaime says, then hesitates. “I would be grateful, however, if you don’t let Brienne or her family know I’m also here due to the Golden Company’s hostile takeover.”

Lady Cerenna can’t hide her surprise. “Jaime Lannister, caught at last? And by _Brienne Tarth_ , of all people?”

Jaime laughs. “Not quite. Let’s just say it’s complicated.”

Lady Cerenna sips her tea and Jaime can see her mind racing. “Jon Connington will likely be at the wedding,” she finally says with a thoughtful air.

“Mayhaps such a celebration will be the perfect distraction.”

Lady Cerenna slowly smiles. “I see you have your father’s flair for the devious.”

“But it will only work if no one knows who I am, especially the Conningtons.”

“They haven’t recognized your last name?”

“No one has asked for it.”

*/*/*/*/*

They haggle for a little longer but when Jaime leaves the hotel suite, he and Lady Cerenna have brokered a deal. It will cost the Baratheon Brothers dearly in terms of cash and stock options, but if he can keep the Freys loyal long enough to block the Golden Company’s advances, then the company will be saved.

He glances at his watch and grins. Not quite eleven, so he has time to rent a car then deal with that last pressing matter before he returns to the house.

*/*/*/*/*

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” says the woman on the other end of the line. “As far as we know, Mandon Moore is with Ms Tarth right now. Neither of them have called to cancel or shorten the booking, or to lodge any complaints at all.”

Jaime tsks and tries to remember the last time he had this much fun over a stupid phone call. “This is what happens when I take a holiday. Ms Tarth seldom bothers herself dealing such mundane matters. Well, I’m back on the job now. She will, naturally, be very concerned that your client hasn’t checked in with you, but she’s also, naturally, very concerned over the fact that your agency backed out at the last minute, even after she paid in advance.”

“The terms of the contract—”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure it’s ironclad enough, although Ms Tarth’s lawyers are currently reviewing the terms and conditions to determine what recourse she may have outside of a public statement about your agency’s lack of communication and commitment to a contract once signed and paid.”

“Now, Mr....what did you say your name was again?”

“Jaime. Ms Tarth’s personal assistant.”

“Mr., erm, Jaime, I’m sure if you would just let me speak to Ms Tarth directly that she and I can work something out. Lawyers and public statements certainly don’t need to be part of the equation.”

“Ms Tarth is far too busy to take time from her schedule to speak with you directly any longer. She shouldn’t have done so to begin with. I blame myself. I should known better than to take a holiday without providing my client with someone like me. Well, what’s done is done. If you provide a full refund and an apology, I’m certain I can convince Ms Tarth to forget about this incident...at least…I hope I can.”

“Ms Tarth seemed very concerned about privacy when she booked our talent,” the woman―Gilly, Jaime thinks her name is―says, sounding doubtful. “She was very insistent that the issue was a delicate personal matter.”

Jaime chuckles his most condescending laugh. “Ms Tarth tends to worry too much about such things. She insists on complete privacy on almost everything, however, she’s willing to make an exception in this case. She was particularly counting on your talent being available to accompany her during this next week. She is...how can I say this? _Irritated._ Extremely.”

Gilly audibly gulps, then, to her credit, says, “The payment is non-refundable. Those are the terms of the contract.”

“Very well,” he sighs. “I’m sure Ms Tarth’s lawyers will be in touch shortly. Good day.”

He hears Gilly yelp his name as he disconnects the call and he grins even as he shakes his head.

Payment in advance and then no refunds even if the actor fails to follow through? Not if he can help it. Even if she cleans up in the betting pool—assuming that sorry lot actually pays out, of course—Brienne doesn’t look like she can afford to lose however many thousands of dollars she paid out.

_That’s started,_ he thinks as he starts his newly rented car and begins driving back to the house. _Now_ _I just need to get my hands on what’s in that betting pool._

*/*/*/*/*


End file.
